


Keep the Engine Running

by mickian



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickian/pseuds/mickian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“The hell you doing here?” Mickey says, charming as ever, not even a hint of a smile on his own face. As usual the logic in Ian's brain chooses to focus on the way Mickey's eyes get extra blue in the daylight, not caring if he sounds about as happy as Ian would be over running into his grandma at a friend's party.</i>
</p>
<p>Set during 2x02.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep the Engine Running

**Author's Note:**

> (Warnings: just some minor stuff that should be fine if you watch the show; drugs, offensive language etc)

Ian shoves some questionable-looking garbage bag away with his foot and takes the stairs to the Milkovich house two steps at a time. He raps his knuckles on the door, careful not to step on anything else – while their own place isn't the cleanest in the country, the Milkovich's yard somehow always manages to look as if a particularly wild festival just ended right on their doorstep.

The door yanks open to reveal Mickey standing there, smudges of dirt covering most parts of his tank top, his hair its usual mess and stubble still darkening both the curve of his jaw and his upper lip.

“Hi,” Ian says and tries not to smile but fails completely, because he has to. The bird fluttering in chest for so many months at the mere thought of Mickey coming back turns into a caged panicked animal over actually _seeing_ him nowadays. He shifts from foot to foot and shoves his hands down into his pockets simply to have somewhere to put them.

“The hell you doing here?” Mickey says, charming as ever, not even a hint of a smile on his own face. As usual the logic in Ian's brain chooses to focus on the way Mickey's eyes get extra blue in the daylight, not caring if he sounds about as happy as Ian would be over running into his grandma at a friend's party. “Mandy's at the mall.”

“I know,” Ian says, not letting it bother him. As soon as they're alone he knows Mickey will relax and cheer up, especially after hearing what Ian has to tell him. “That's why I'm here.”

Mickey licks his bottom lip and glances over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “Look, Mandy ain't the only one living here with me. Just 'cus she's gone doesn't mean you can show up unannounced, other people are still fucking here.”

Ian rolls his eyes and tightens the grip he has on the strap of his bag, getting a bit impatient. “I _know_ , Mick, I'm not asking you to invite me in for a fucking candlelit dinner and a movie.”

“The fuck do you want, then?”

“Just come with me and you'll see.”

“Come with you _where_?”

Ian gives up reasoning with him and starts walking backwards, careful not to trip on the steps of the staircase. “Not gonna find out by standing there all day!” he singsongs, because _god_ Mickey's a distrustful paranoid hard nut to crack sometimes.

“You're a fucking weirdo,” Mickey mutters and disappears back into the house, slamming the door shut after himself. Ian's face falls and he stares at the wooden door, waiting for it to open again, glancing around when it doesn't happen. He clenches his jaw, trying to ignore the way his heart plummets and feels like Mickey loaded one of his guns and shot it five times in a row just for the hell of it.

He used to pride himself on not being too emotional around Kash, even when he thought he was in love with him – it was one of his biggest assets, made him feel so old and mature, how he could be so calm and collected even while wooing someone so much older – but Mickey seems to have unlocked the door to whatever dusty room Ian kept his self-control in.

Figures it would happen with the one guy he will always need to keep his cool around no matter what.

“Fine, whatever,” he mutters to no one and turns around to start walking home again, his good mood wiped away easier than dust on a window. He tries not to let the disappointment settle in his chest, but Mickey didn't even know what he had _wanted_ , the least he could do –

“'Ey, Gallagher! You so fucking eager you can't even wait for me to grab a shirt?”

Ian spins around to see Mickey half-jogging up to him with a cigarette dangling between his lips and his worn old brown sweater in his other hand.

“You think I'm taking you to Alaska?” Ian says, the grin on his face coming back in full force – hard to crack or not, there's something that makes Mickey unable to stay away too, letting Ian's panicked bird pick on his shell slowly, slowly. “It's _July_ , Mickey.”

“And today it finally fucking rained, so it's cold,” Mickey says and takes the cigarette from his mouth, blowing out smoke through his nostrils and looking at the sky. It's gray above them, parted dark clouds letting through the tiniest sliver of sunshine, promising warmth coming back eventually. “Now what the fuck do you want?”

“You'll see.” The corners of Ian's mouth quirk up, feels hooked to something in direct connection to Mickey's presence next to him, and he speeds up his pace, enjoying Mickey's intrigued glance as he hurries to keep up.

*

“This place's a dump,” Mickey says and pokes his foot at an empty beer can, dribbling with it before kicking it across the underground parking lot Ian's taken them to.

Ian can't argue with that, since it's exactly why he picked this spot in the first place. It's practically empty save for three cars which may or may not have been standing there for days, so the chances of anyone showing up and seeing them together are slim to none.

Mickey barely wants to acknowledge they know each other's names around other people, despite Ian thinking it's only weird if they _make_ _it_  weird. Mickey always ends up joining him and Mandy when Ian's over at their place to hang out with her, anyway – be it while they make food or play video games or just sit in the living room, Mickey always seems to find excuses to be where they are – so it's not as if them hanging out would be the most suspicious thing in the world.

Mickey's always reasoned in ways Ian can't quite understand, though, so he's sort of getting used to simply going with it, but sometimes he wonders if he could breathe in Mickey's general direction while they're among the wrong people and Mickey would feel the need to beat him half to death.

Ian walks over to one of the parked cars, a pickup in the far back, taking a chance and hopping up on the hood, pleased when no alarm sounds at the impact.

“Thought we decided to meet tomorrow,” Mickey says and stops in front of him, giving Ian's body a slow once-over as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. Hostile as he may seem around others, Mickey's never subtle with his intentions when they're alone; his eyes a tiger circling his prey, enjoying watching it shiver.

Two can play that game and Ian Gallagher is no scared mouse, so he sits straighter and not-so-subtly spreads his legs, just to see Mickey's gaze linger. “We did,” he says.

“So?” Mickey grins smugly, his tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth as he lifts his eyebrows. “You gettin' greedy already now that you're not getting it from Kash 'n Grab as well?”

“Very funny, Mick.” Ian rolls his eyes, because sometimes he still wishes Mickey didn't know about their past just so he could _let it go_. “Sit down. We're not going to fuck.” He pats the space next to him, quickly adding, “...Not right away, at least,” when Mickey looks ready to bolt at that statement. Ian's bag hits the hood of the car with a thud as he lets it slide off of his shoulder and he zips it open, glancing at Mickey who's still stuck staring uncertainly at him. “Will you fucking relax and have a seat? I'm not gonna murder you.”

“I'd like to see you try, tough guy.” Mickey scoffs but goes to sit on the hood next to him, pulling out his pack of smokes again.

“Don't light another one of those yet,” Ian says and takes out the two paper bags from McDonalds he'd bought earlier, happy to notice they still seem somewhat warm. He thinks about saving the joints he got his hands on yesterday for a special surprise dessert but settles on taking them out as well, placing a couple of beers on the hood too.

“The hell's this?” Mickey says as he takes it all in. Ian hands him one of the bags and he eyes it warily, as if it will explode if he accepts it too readily.

“ _This_ , is called food. We use it to feed our bodie– ouch!” Ian yelps and chuckles as Mickey slaps the back of his head.

“You tryin' to turn this into a date or some queer shit?” Mickey says, but once he's opened the bag and peeked inside he wastes no time before shoveling a handful of french fries into his mouth.

“Your words, not mine,” Ian says and takes out his own Big Mac, opening the box it's in and picking at some of the salad that's fallen off of the burger. “Nah, just thought we could celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?” Mickey says around a huge bite of his burger, Ian getting momentarily lost looking at Mickey's lips where his tongue darts out to catch the dressing in the corner of his mouth.

“Me getting you a job.”

That stops Mickey, who lifts his eyebrows and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “Seriously?”

“Mhm. Talked to Linda earlier, you're starting tomorrow.”

“How the hell did you get her to agree to that?” he mumbles while trying to swallow. “You fuckin' her too?”

“Jesus, man, I'm trying to eat.”

“If you could fuck fucking Kash 'n Grab without throwing up in your mouth I can't see why not her,” Mickey mutters and takes the last bite of his burger, “hell knows she's more of a man than that pussy.”

Ian shrugs, ignoring Mickey's remarks, because sometimes he does wonder at how easy things are with Linda lately. “She's been pretty cool, you know, after Kash left and all,” he says. “And since I'm the only one helping her out with the store and all that shit, I do have some say in things. Guess she figured she could help me out too.”

Mickey's face hardens. “You better not have fucking told her, Gallagher.”

“Told her what?” Ian says, chewing his burger and faking innocence.

“The.” Mickey flops a distressed hand between them. “That we're. Y'know.”

Ian thinks for a moment, wants to say, that we're _what_?, but despite his attempts to hide it, Mickey looks about to faint so he figures he can cut him some slack. Besides, Mickey _just_ got out of juvie and as happy as he is over them falling right back to where they had left off, even Ian knows to be careful reading too much into it.

“No, relax, I didn't tell her we're fucking,” he settles for, even though he's pretty sure Linda does know.

She'd laughed for almost a full minute when Ian had asked her, before she took a deep breath – then she'd realized he was serious, which made her laugh even harder. Once she finally calmed down she squinted her eyes instead, the way Ian's learned means she's weighing her options, trying to figure out how much is in it for her before she finally agreed with a solid reasoning.

“She needs another employee anyway, and it'll be cheaper paying you than having those stupid cameras up,” Ian recites back to Mickey, glancing over at him. “She also said that though she's still pissed about it and it'll show on your paycheck, it'd be pretty funny in some ways to be handing money to the guy Kash hated more than anyone else. Like she's rewarding you for all the... uh, well. Stealing. That you did from him.” He takes a sip of his beer, thinking about the way Linda had arched an eyebrow as she said it, and yeah, she _definitely_ knows.

Mickey looks like he can't decide whether to be pleased or mortified, but finally gives a nod. “Alright.” He burps like that's the end of that conversation, and crumples the McDonald's paper bag. “Bet you I'll hit that trashcan,” he says before flinging it through the air, grinning proudly when it hits the top and bounces to the ground. “Ah-ha!”

He opens another beer to gulp down as silence stretches between them, while Ian continues chewing on what's left of his burger.

“Thanks, man. By the way.” It's muttered, Mickey's voice low and rushed as he fiddles with the cap on the can, as if he acts nonchalant enough about it, it won't really matter, he won't actually have said it out loud.

Ian smiles when Mickey looks over at him and gives a tiny nod in acknowledgment. “You're welcome. Beats Linda hiring some other whiny teenager stealing all my donuts or a grumpy old dude or something, right?”

Mickey snorts and flings his empty beer can away as well, landing next to where the paper bag is still lying under the trashcan, as if he's already working on turning the parking lot into the Milkovich's front yard. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, teeth moving over it, his eyes flicking over to Ian's face before falling down to Ian's mouth for a second. It's short, barely there, but it happens and Ian finds himself wondering what Mickey would do if he actually closed the gap between them.

All the scenarios he can come up with in his head are horrible enough for him not to test his luck – he could probably hold his own pretty good if they got into a fight, but it's not like Ian _wants_ to get punched by him, and Mickey's set his boundaries pretty clearly, so it'd be stupid to break them anyway.

He looks away instead, says, “You want my fries?” and nudges them towards him with his hand.

Mickey snatches them up before he offers the, “You're not gonna eat 'em?”

“I'm not the one who's been eating prison food for the past months, enjoy yourself.”

“Still don' look like you've eaten much fries lately.”

“Hm?”

“Nevermind,” Mickey quickly mutters.

It takes Ian a moment before he gets it, glancing down at his own body. He knows he's both packed on some muscles and grown a bit while Mickey's been away, and he grins in satisfaction over Mickey actually noticing it.

“These for us too?” Mickey asks and picks up a joint before Ian can say something else, master of distraction that he is.

“Help yourself,” Ian says and rubs his hands on his thighs, feeling his skin prickle, because Mickey was right; it might be summer, but it's been a fairly chilly day and here, underground, he wishes he had brought a hoodie. “Fuck, it's freezing.”

“Told ya.”

“Don't be a dick.” Ian crosses his arms and wiggles where he's sitting.

“Got the wrong guy for that,” Mickey says but the next moment Ian finds something brown and knitted held under his nose. “Here, man, you need it?”

Ian stares dumbfounded at Mickey's outstretched hand, trying to puzzle the pieces together of what exactly is happening.

Mickey shakes his hand impatiently. “It's just a fucking sweater, but if you don't drop the stupid look on your face I ain't letting you borrow it,” he snaps before dumping it in Ian's lap.

“Thanks,” Ian offers lamely, sucking his lips into his mouth to hide another smile as he tugs Mickey's sweater over his head, sliding the short zipper at the throat shut. He tugs at the arms to hide his hands in them, already feeling warmer, not sure how much of it actually has to do with the extra clothing.

“So am I getting a celebratory blowjob out of this or what?” Mickey says and Ian can't bother to hide his grin anymore as he looks over at him and squints his eyes.

“Technically shouldn't _you_ be blowing _me_ , since I got you the job?”

Mickey snorts but hops down from the car, carefully stubbing out the joint where he sat. “Alright, Gallagher,” he says and crowds between Ian's legs, his eyes on his as he grabs right above Ian's knees and slides his hands up. “Let's see if we can warm you up, huh?” Mickey wiggles his eyebrows and Ian gets another impulse to kiss him; not because he let him borrow his sweater or because he wants some kind of payback thank you from Mickey, but _because_ they do all those things so easily, and yet Mickey won't kiss him.

Kash wanted to make out with him all the time and if he liked it with him, Ian can only imagine what it would be like to kiss Mickey. He knows it won't happen, but sometimes he can't help but to want to, can't help but to dream about pressing his lips to Mickey's and feel his tongue slide against his. He wonders if he'd taste the same as Ian's made it up in his mind; strong and something sweet, like whiskey and the smell at his hairline.

Beer and smoke and warmth is probably what he'd actually taste right now, but Ian's not going to find out.

While he understands in some ways Mickey's reluctance to it, he can't help but to think it's a silly safety net Mickey's wrapped around himself when they're already where they are – like throwing a lifeline to someone already drowned.

Maybe, Ian thinks, trying to make sense of the mystery that is Mickey Milkovich as Mickey unbuckles his belt and gets his hand down Ian's pants, he just genuinely doesn't like it. Another thing Ian wouldn't understand, but Mickey's not like any of the other guys he's been with, so he doesn't expect things to be the same.

Mickey sure isn't soft-handed and careful like Kash had always been, he doesn't care about the slow pace and gentle touching Roger seemed so amazed over. While they've all been closeted, Mickey's by far the one deepest in there, even compared to Kash who was fucking married – yet Kash and Roger have been the ones who always seemed like being with Ian was a near-religious experience they couldn't believe was happening, always touching too much all at once with eager hands.

There's another touch to Mickey's hand; it's intense but sure, he knows what's he's doing even when it's rough and quick, even when it's hurried and rushed there's always a calm confidence about it.

Even now in an empty parking lot where they need to listen for footsteps if someone on the off-chance would come for one of the cars, all Mickey does is jerk him off with determination. Ian breathes out a moan and scrambles for something to hold onto on the hood and Mickey wraps his arm around his back, keeps him in place as he works him over as well as he handles his guns.

“Oh, fuck,” Ian swears and Mickey grins, wicked satisfaction painting his face, and there's no way he's not enjoying this just as much.

Mickey pulls back and tugs at Ian's belt loop to get him to slide down from the hood and stand upright, his pants pooling at his ankles as Mickey drops to his knees and tugs them with him. Ian buries hands in Mickey's hair, and standing with his bare ass pressed against a car while wearing Mickey Milkovich's sweater as said guy deep-throats his dick for the fourth time in the three days since he got out of juvie, sometimes Ian does have hope for the future.

Kissing or not, he doesn't mind rough and quick compared to what he's had before; not when what he's had before has never been _this_.


End file.
